


Pitches

by Squarepeg72



Series: From the Peg Board [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 31 Days of Fanfiction Challenge, Fights, M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 01:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squarepeg72/pseuds/Squarepeg72
Summary: When husbands play sports together, what could go wrong? Oliver getting hurt and having to listen to Marcus play … when he can’t watch over him on the pitch.





	Pitches

**Author's Note:**

> Day 9 - An Argument
> 
> Written for the 31 Day of FanFiction Challenge in preparation for NaNoWriMo 2017

“Damn it Flint. What were you thinking? Or were you even thinking?” Oliver yelled at the radio as Lee Jordan’s voice filled their flat. “I am stuck on this bloody couch because of a broken leg and you try to break your neck going after a goal.” 

Pansy walked into the sitting room and turned off the radio as Oliver threw popcorn at it. “And this is why Marcus asked me to say with you. He was worried that you would hurt yourself listening to the game.”

“He should be more worried about himself. Stubborn man. He know the Cannons’ keeper always pops up from the hoops after one of their beaters sends the bludger after the guy with the quaffle.” Oliver muttered. “It’s not like I haven’t practiced that counter move with him a dozen times.”

“Your husband knows what he is doing, Ollie,” Pansy reminded him as she settled in beside him on the couch. “Just for the record, remind me how you ended up on the couch instead of out on the pitch with your husband …”

“Sprèadhadh e! Woman, dinna bring that up,” Oliver started to turn bright red as he shifted his encased leg on the footstool. “Bloody bludgers and broomsticks. How was I supposed to see the thing coming up from behind me?”

“I seem to recall a certain dark haired wizard warning you about the Harpies and their bludgers,” Pansy handed Oliver a cup of tea, “Drink up. The sooner you finish your tea the sooner I turn the radio back on.”

“Bloody hell! What is this vile tea?” Oliver looked over at Pansy. “Are ye trying to kill me? Since when does tea taste like grass and dirty socks?”

“Since it has Skele-Gro in it. How long do you want to be off the pitch?” Pansy asked as she walked back towards the kitchen. “Drink up. I promised Marcus I would get you to drink your meds before bed when he asked me to come over and baby sit … I mean listen to the game with you.”

Oliver’s eyelids began to droop. “There be more than foul medicine in this tea … I think you drugged me …”

“At your husband’s request, dear one. He knew how you would take this game and he knows you need to rest.” Pansy kissed Oliver on the top of his head and carefully tucked the quilt around his legs. Pansy clicked the radio back on. “Sweet dreams. Marcus will be home before you know it.”

“So, how was he?” Marcus asked as he tiptoed into the sitting room. “I know he hates being stuck on the couch right now.”

“Grumpy. He threw things at the radio when you went for your first goal,” Pansy told Marcus as she put on her coat. “You are lucky I love you both like brothers. It is not fun sitting with either of you when you are the one off the pitch.”

“Thanks, love. You know I owe you,” Marcus kissed pansy on the cheek as she headed for the floo. “How did you get him to sleep?”

“My mum’s secret tea. Camomile, Skele-Gro and Grammie’s Sleepy drops,” Pansy grinned as she ducked into the floo. “Sweet dreams, dear friend.”

Marcus walked over to the couch and ran his fingers through his husband’s hair. “Ollie, my heart, what am I going to do with you?” Carefully, lifting Oliver from the couch, Marcus took them both to bed.

Oliver stretched in the morning light. Reaching across the sheets, he ran his fingers along the scar on Marcus’ shoulder. His reminder of the match that made him realize how much he loved the man lying beside him. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Marcus. I can’t lose you.” Oliver kissed along the scar as he pulled his husband into his chest.

Marcus mumbled and snuggled deeper into Oliver’s chest. Oliver settled himself into a more comfortable position and drifted back to sleep.

“Don’t scare you again!” Oliver jerked awake as Marcus yelled at him from across the room. “ From the man who spent half a game hanging upside down on his broom because he would not admit the bludger hit to his hip had dislocated it and he couldn’t sit on his broom.”

“Sprèadhadh e! I canna help that. I had hoops defend.” Oliver winced as he sat up in the bed. “I am not the one making death dives for the ground to avoid a bludger and try to score in the same swoop.”

“Death dives … Really!” Marcus sputtered as he paced the room. “From the man who sees nothing wrong with turning his back on a pitch FULL of bludgers and brooms to stop a quaffle from going through his hoops with his HEAD. How many concussions do I have to watch you get ?”

“I KNOW what the hell I am doing. I can hear the wind whistle around those bloody bludgers as they come at me,” Oliver threw his pillow across the room in Marcus’s direction. “I trust the twins to keep me safe and I TRUST you to get the quaffle once I knock it away from the hoops.”

The air seemed to leave the room as Oliver and Marcus stared at each other from opposite ends of the room.Marcus caved as he saw the tears in Oliver’s eyes. Oliver reached out his hand as he slide to the middle of the bed.

“Bloody hell, Ollie. How can you lay there with a cast up to your hip and tell me not to worry?” Marcus settled heavily on the bed. “It is scary as hell to watch you fly around the hoops every game. Beautiful and scary, all in one.”

“Mo fear, do you think it is any easier for me to watch you fly around the pitch driving the quaffle from end to end.” Oliver ran his fingers along the scar on Marcus’s shoulder. “It is like watching poetry being written as you move the quaffle down the pitch… I fall in love with you more with every game.”

“Remind me why we are yelling,” Marcus whispered as he turned towards Oliver.

“Because you risk your life on a broom when I am not there to watch it,” Oliver replied as he sipped at Marcus’s lips.

“Good morning, Ollie,” Marcus pushed against Oliver’s chest as he kissed a trail from his lips to his neck.

“Madainin mhath, mo fear,” Oliver tugged on Marcus hair and kissed his husband senseless.

**Author's Note:**

> Scots Galec:  
> Sprèadhadh e - Blast it!  
> Madainin mhath, mo fear - Good morning, my husband


End file.
